Living London - By Kristin Vayden Page 0,68

poodle, it's you, Ewan!" she said as she fumbled trying to pick herself up off the cold floor.

"I do not. Besides, boys can have curls just as easily as girls," he said with all the confidence his eleven years afforded him.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Grace asked, standing up and pushing her braids over her shoulder. "You've no manners, wandering around in the middle of the night." She shook a finger at him.

"Oh, and I guess you're better? You're here too, ya know." He crossed his arms and waited for her response in his usual arrogant fashion, tapping his toe.

"Yes, but I live here. You. Do. Not," she enunciated, crossing her arms as well as she leaned forward, squinting.

"True, but that means I'm your guest. You've gotta serve me." Ewan's chin tilted upward as he smiled at his own brilliance.

Grace widened her eyes. "Serve you? I'm not your maid. I doubt there's a maid that would willingly serve you — you… arrogant worm." Her anger increased as Ewan refused to be properly insulted — worse, he laughed at her efforts.

"Yep, that's the rules; you've gotta serve me. I'm your guest, so, I'd like you to move over so I can have this seat by the tree." He moved to sit down.

"No!" Grace shouted as she lunged for the chair.

He lunged at the same time, pushing her away. Grace tried to move him, but he was too strong, too big. The fury built inside Grace, causing her to look for a weapon or something to help her remove the miserable boy from the chair. She noticed her father's brandy. She rushed over to the side table, grabbed the decanter, and poured it on Ewan. Though not enough to get the chair wet, it was enough to soak his nightshirt. Ewan froze, giving Grace a glare that chilled her insides.

"What is going on here!" came a voice that made both Grace and Ewan gasp.

Ewan's eyes widened. Grace turned slowly and saw her father's bewildered expression. He took in the sight of Grace still holding his now empty brandy decanter, and Ewan soaked with its contents.

"He — he — he…" Grace tried to think fast, but all she could think about was how she simply just wanted Ewan gone. He had been a thorn in her side all week, teasing, pulling her hair, calling her awful names — and as of yet, she hadn't once bested him. So, Grace lied. "Papa, I told Ewan you wouldn't approve of him drinking your brandy, but well, he insisted and when I tried to take it away…"

She began to cry out of fear, knowing if she were caught in her lie, she'd be punished severely.

"Ewan!" Grace's father scolded.

"Sir, I never — I didn't — She—" Ewan sputtered as he stood pointing at Grace, trying to explain the truth.

"Ewan, you march to your room and change."

Ewan began to protest again, but Grace's father held up his hand to silence his efforts. "No. Not another word. We'll speak more about this in the morning. Your parents will surely have something to say about sneaking around a host's home and pilfering brandy."

Grace's father crossed his arms as he waited for Ewan to obey.

Ewan stood up and shot daggers at Grace before marching out of the room, leaving the smell of brandy in his wake.

"Sweetling, why don't you put down the decanter and head to bed? Why were you up, anyway?" her father asked gently as he took the decanter from her trembling hand.

"I… I wanted to see Father Christmas," Grace replied, still terrified he'd see through her falsehood and punish her.

"Ahh, I see." Winding his arms around her small frame he carried her off to bed.

"We'll see the magic in the morning," he replied as he tucked her in, kissing the end of her nose.

"All right, Papa." She watched him as he left, but couldn't sleep. Oh, Ewan was going to be so angry with her! Fear crept in her heart as she wondered how he'd retaliate. For if there was one thing she knew about Ewan, the future Duke of Greys, it was that he would get even someday.

Chapter One

"How's my pretty little liar tonight? Hmm?" Ewan Emmett, Duke of Greys asked.

"Delightful, now that I'm dancing with you, your grace." The false sweetness dripped from Lady Grace Hashiver's lips with practiced execution. Her wide mouth pulled into a sarcastic smile that was all too familiar.

He still loved to taunt and provoke her. Satisfaction settled in his chest